The Japril Chronicles
by FaziO
Summary: A series of individual one-shots, predominantly post GA season 11 - ie canon up to end season 11. As the name suggests, all Japril...
1. Sklooging

**Sklooging**

 **A/N: A One-Shot commencing immediately after Season 11. It's different…but go with it dear readers. I seem to be in Jackson Avery's head of late, so most (if not all :-) the fics I have penned recently are either his POV or predominantly him. Not sure where Shonda & Co are going with Japril in the new season but here's one pathway. Disclaimer as usual: The characters of Grey's Anatomy, past and present, new and old belong to the unique Shonda Rhimes…**

* * *

It was turning out to be quite the sexcapade, one of his finest if he was to be honest. Almost unparalleled. Down and dirty. Doin' the nasty, with no finesse but culminating in devastating personal pleasure. She did everything for and to him and while it went against his grain, allowed no reciprocity. Being the beneficiary of all that pent up sexuality he was moderately surprised when she purred into his ear that he was the best she'd ever had.

The day started out innocently enough and, if you disregarded his misery, it was like any other day at Grey Sloan Memorial. Not that his unhappiness was visible to his peers, he was stoic as usual, but everyone was familiar with their history. Also his interruption of the Kepner/Taylor wedding and his subsequent, witnessed, love proclamation to the bride, achieved legendary status at the hospital. It was a swoon-worthy tale that appealed to the romantic at heart. For the couple involved though, being as private as they were, they loathed the notoriety and especially that it emanated at the expense of two innocents.

Discounting their history, their present on full display became fodder for scandalmongers. The rumor mill was going wild and its source was April's closest friend, or her number two, if he was thrown into the mix (he obviously being first). Perhaps he had been dethroned in the BFF category, he wondered to himself. Although Arizona had been well meaning and, to both of them, adviceorial (not even a valid word, but obvious and apropos in intent), she had a hard time keeping things to herself and this was hot of the press – Separation of the Avery's. As Stephanie and Matthew would say "Karma's a bitch" – well not really Matthew who was so far off the grid as to be inconsequential and who was too well-mannered to resort to such speech. Not that he believed, but kowtowing to popular culture he reflected that Karma was biting him in the arse in a major way. He sighed in resignation at his karmic destiny when his previous ex stepped into the elevator, leaving him alone in the metal cubicle with Dr. Stephanie Edwards.

"Dr. Avery," she greeted, surprisingly flirtatious.

Apparently she was done imagining that he did not exist and even though more than two years had lapsed since their last encounter of a personal nature, he recognized her coquettish manner. He was no fool, he'd been the recipient of female attention since kindergarten. So at this stage in his life he possessed above average awareness of sexual innuendo. Since gossip at the hospital was rife and spreading like wildfire, he'd become the inheritor of all types of sexually suggestive insinuations, even from the newly minted interns – they seemed entirely career driven and completely self-involved so the inappropriateness of their conduct was not even a blip on their radar. Women had always flocked towards him, if not for his looks then his family's wealth or, for people in the know, his Medical Legacy. All three together were a potent combination. His mentor, Mark Sloan, had coined a term for this moth to a flame quality he owned, calling it his 'Avery Sparkle'. He did not entertain Stephanie's body language which she cloaked with intimate overtones by her seductive, deepened voice– he simply stepped further away from her. Professional courtesy however, and his damn ingrained Avery genes, insisted on a polite response.

"Dr. Edwards," he replied in kind.

"So, you and Dr. Kepner…" she started, expectantly.

He ignored her prompt and simply gazed expressionlessly back at her.

Being a colleague and having previous insight into his behavior and mannerisms, she was very clear on the "Don't go there" message his eyes displayed and the change from impassive to one lifted eyebrow – his very own "Fuck off" which he would never express in that vulgar terminology. Nonetheless, she remained undeterred, but before she could gather her thoughts enough to proposition him the elevator doors opened at his destination floor. Still not dissuaded from her mission she rushed to follow him, having to run to draw level with his huge strides. Catching up to him in a partly deserted corridor she grabbed his arm to halt his headlong flight away from her.

"Stop, okay?! Please. I just wanna say something. Don't you think you owe me that at least?"

Anything to get him to listen, even if it meant using his guilt at the way he broke up with her! And it worked. One thing that always got to her was that she lost out on a true Man's Man when he ended it. He'd been a bit of a douche, emotionally cold really, during their brief 'relationship' and the method of their breakup was right up there in uncouth behavior, but she knew _that_ was the anomaly. The fact that she could appeal to his culpability in the failure of their liaison as well as that he tried to apologize and attempted to make amends to her later proved that a decent guy existed beneath his emotionless façade. Over the passage of time she was able to objectively view the scene of her embarrassment and the conclusion she reached was that April Kepner was one heck of a lucky woman – to be considered worthy of being loved so completely by such a man.

Astounding character and this epic Romeo and Juliet Love Story aside, all Stephanie's mind could comprehend at this moment was that her ex-lover was separated from his wife. Her body, on the other hand, was vibrating with all these conflicting sensations, predominantly reminding her of the major dry spell she was experiencing (including the almost 'Jailbait' excursion) and that prior to his marriage Dr. Avery had been more than proficient at satiating her physical desires. She decided to stop beating around the bush and straightforwardly declare her intentions but noting that Jackson's deadpan expression was morphing into impatience and exasperation she went with euphemisms. Her voice stuttered hesitantly but she forged ahead – the fear of rejection was worth a successful payoff.

"Do you wanna get it on? With me, I mean?"

Observing his immobility and still blank expression, she clarified.

"The horizontal mambo…hanky panky…the wild thing…getting laid or getting some…going at it and all the way…jumping bones…humping, shagging, boinking, screwing…sklooging…"

"Sklooging?" he quizzically repeated, finally engaging.

Well at least that got a reaction, she supposed. "Newest catch phrase for coitus…err…intercourse."

Hesitation – the moment called for silence.

"So do you wanna have sex?"

To say that she'd managed to surprise him was a vast understatement. He remembered when their patient, the Chef with the severed penis, had been brought to the trauma centre and Stephanie had been tasked with delivering the torn appendage to him for reconstructive grafting before reattachment. She'd been all flustered and comical about the 'Package'. While she still went about today's discussion circuitously, the point was made and she drove it home with her last direct pronouncement. Mentally he guffawed, perhaps sexual inference was catching. Yet outwardly he manifested a smooth countenance and turning away from the newly qualified attending he sauntered towards the opposite direction, leaving her in limbo. Was this an acceptance or rejection of her proposal? Perhaps this necessitated a wardrobe emergency!

Unbeknownst to either of them, their entire conversation had an unintended eavesdropper...

* * *

It had been a while. She gazed around the drinking establishment, curious and waiting, and her gaze was immediately drawn to the bar patron as he entered. He was beautiful, of course. Was he worth her humiliating herself again? Worth breaking the rules? The answers to both were apparent and a resounding 'Yes'.

"Buy you a drink? Or would you rather get out of here?" she enquired on approach.

The speed of his actions astounded her. He threw some bills onto the countertop, flung back the rest of his drink and grabbed her hand to lead her out. His actions were so hurried and his pace so unexpected that she staggered slightly on her stilettos, almost running to keep up with him and to avoid being dragged in his wake. Perhaps the heels were a mistake, but she'd worn them with seduction in mind. Recalling her idea she used all the strength at her disposal to pull him to a halt before he hauled her up the stairs that led down to the basement pub entrance.

"Do you wanna get it on? With me, I mean?" she delicately whispered into his ear.

She moved between his thighs, lifted her red-heeled shod foot as far as the short skirt of her dress would allow and ran it over the back of his calf. Pulling him into a torrid embrace she kissed him with such fervor, imprinting him with the knowledge of who was in control and who was left panting in response. She was seductress and he was seduced.

He gazed in awe, almost reverential – a fascinated, willing audience of one to her striptease performance. Was this natural sensuality or a learned eroticism? He allowed his body to fall back onto the bed where he'd been pushed, an audible gulp escaping the dryness invading his vocal cords. While he was not tied up physically all his faculties felt knotted up with the tension that attacks a body pre-release. As he opened his mouth to attempt speech and move from spectator towards participant she crawled onto the bed towards him, revving his excitement to full throttle. She reached over and covered his lips with her index finger, shushing him with the gesture. He capitulated to the 'no talking' rule but swiped his tongue over the finger blocking his mouth, which she then surrendered to his ministrations for a quick swirl before replacing the digit with her tongue.

The magnitude of his involvement in foreplay was her allowing him to engage his lips and tongue in wild, toe-curling kisses. His hands were held prisoner, initially by her own, and then simply by her soft-voiced commands or punishments when they strayed. Her retaliatory nips and bites were incentive enough for his continued disobedience but he restrained himself, intent on experiencing the culmination to his total submission. Never in his entire existence had he allowed anyone to absorb absolute mastery of his body. With a contented sigh he yielded his all, loving her self-assurance and trusting the honesty of her gaze. And the sex was mind-blowing.

Twice they'd gone at it, with a very brief recovery period in between. Lips were in play that evening but not for talking. Sighs, grunts and groans were their acoustic and mutual satisfaction their final destination. Although no bondage transpired, he was figuratively a submissive to her dominant – she got-off on being on top and enjoyed the control he allowed her. They were ships in the night leaving each other at dawn with nary a word spoken but a drawn-out final kiss. Until the following night…

Neither of them had been able to stay away from the pub. The likelihood that the other would be there drove them both to the establishment, chancing an encounter. He was an adrenalin rush and she an aphrodisiac and both were addicted to the erotic stimuli. The rest of the week passed in a similar vein with the one major difference being that by their third hook-up they skipped the bar entirely and got straight down to the business of…getting down.

A week of nighttime extracurricular activities later found Jackson seated once again in Dr. Kim Dawson's office, listening to April hypothesize on their failures, wondering all the while if it was an appropriate time to mention the clandestine encounters. Dr. Dawson was the therapist recommended by Arizona Robbins and was who had aided Callie and herself during the rocky time before their decision to call it quits. Admittedly the failed marriage of their friends was not the best recommendation, but Arizona insisted that Dr. Dawson had aided the couple in the realization that they had grown apart. The crash and burn of their marriage was all their own doing – Kim Dawson was simply a facilitator to their arbitration. Although, it soon became apparent to both April and himself that Dr. Dawson was a one trick horse. Similar to her treatment plan with the Torres-Robbins duo, she had recommended a physical separation of the Avery's coupled with a very stern 30-day 'No Sex, No Talking' embargo – well no communication aside from in her presence and during sessions.

"April…we need to talk," Jackson caught up to her immediately outside the therapist's rooms.

"But…you…we…no talking…" she confusedly attempted to deflect, a stickler for the rules.

"And how's that going for you?" Jackson sarcastically rejoined.

"Okay, okay, I know you're right. Let's grab a coffee and…" she stopped at the beeping of both their pagers – 911 major trauma put a crimp in that idea.

"As soon as we're free, send me a text or a page. It's got to be done. We good?" he replied as they both raced to attend to the emergencies that required their instant attention.

"Yeah, good to go."

He should have realized that it was an impossible situation – she was a freaking Trauma Surgeon. He gazed down from the viewing deck into the operating room she currently occupied knowing that the surgery would not be over anytime soon. Their conversation, at least a week overdue, would have to wait one more day. At odds with himself and knowing he would be alone he decided to go to the rendezvous destination hotel room. He toed of his sneakers as soon as he stepped into the room, made himself comfortable on the plush comforter and was instantly lights out.

He was awoken in the most delicious manner. Her slight weight already atop his excitable body, she kissed him voraciously. Still groggy and gripped in the throes of passion he succumbed to the hunger. As he approached his climax he called her name out fiercely.

"April," he sighed out this time, his breath returning to normal.

"Shh…no April, no Jackson, no Avery's here" April softly replied.

"We can't be Ostriches April!" he exasperatedly responded.

"Huh…what?"

"No matter how enjoyable this interlude has been, we can't keep burying our heads in the sand, April. Hence Ostrich."

She thought about his words for a long moment before she suggested a counter offer to his suggestion.

"You're right," she agreed, with this directionally challenged, very rarely used phrase between husband and wife. "But…" and the qualifier was to be expected! Men everywhere groaned loudly in conjunction with her spouse…so close…

"But what?" he probed.

"Let's be strangers getting to know one another, when we're here. Or better yet we'll be just April and just Jackson – AppleJacks…"

"Like the cereal?"

"Jackson!" she smacked his chest. "Apple doesn't sound very sexy, right? And I want to be this sexy woman, having you as my lover," she continued.

"Well an Apple did get Adam and Eve thrown out of the Garden of Eden. What?"

"How do you know this? And it wasn't the apple, it was temptation…ahh I see where you're going with this."

"I may not believe Apple, but I do read. So okay," he smilingly returned, wanting the same thing she did. "We'll be Apple and Jacks. Surgeon Best Friends, Lovers who are dating and relearning each other. She's just returned from Moline, He's been waiting."

"They're getting to know more about each other with the dynamic of sex and intimacy thrown into the mix…"

"Yeah, Applejacks here and Jackson and April Avery out there, especially with the touchy-feely doctor," he rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, let's not tell her about AppleJacks. How would we explain that the 'no sex' decree didn't even last days…although we, err they, did keep to the 'no talking' rule."

"Hmm, good thinking. Which reminds me, what brought on this whole seduction routine? You know I would never give up on us and I would never be unfaithful to you. Which is not to say that I haven't loved being with you like this. I love you, Apple."

"I love you too, Jacks. And the only person that you're gonna be sklooging is me!"

* * *

 **A/N: Okay guyz calm down - it's been April all along. I inserted clues throughout. She overheard them in the corridor so that's why she repeated the words to him. There had to be a little doubt, lol, to make it interesting but I guess I assumed that if the little clues didn't give it away then their last conversation would. Did you not wonder how April ended up in that hotel room huh? But anyway...quite sorry if this upset you. For anyone that knows me, I would never go there ;-)**


	2. Grieving & Healing

**Grieving and Healing**

 **A/N: Post Season 11. It can be done GA Writers and Shonda…Just Japril! Especially for doubting Thomases – strength, faith and anticipation for the upcoming season. Hope you enjoy this One Shot, dear readers! Disclaimer as usual: All characters belong to Grey's Anatomy and the inimitable Shonda Rhimes – confidently optimistic for season 12…**

 **Ancillary Note: Posting this OS on Spring Day! I dedicate it to CC :-) Humbly thankful for all your support and with copious delight at your good news…**

 **Post Ancillary Note: Blame it on Fanfiction! This story was ready to be uploaded on Spring Day. Looks like there's way too much heat generated on fanfiction, enough to crash their servers ;-)**

* * *

He rushes through his appointments intent on finding his way back to the ER. No sign of April. She didn't come home last night and while he had almost a year without her presence, enough time to familiarize himself with the lack and one which this time he basically called for with his ultimatum, her absence still smarts. It's also unlike her - she usually let him know where she was, if not directly then via text message or a note. Being a man of science he's always been keenly aware of provable facts but being a doctor and witnessing some unexplainable phenomena, he trusts in intuition too and his instinct right now is Defcon 3, Code Red, High Alert and all those warning bells – something was way off in his world. Spotting Arizona entering the Emergency Room he starts making his way towards her, but it seems to be the goal of each and every new intern to thwart him reaching his destination. His journey also appears to be a slow-motioned march through gello, the official dessert of all hospitals. His voyage culminates once he reaches Arizona.

"Where is my wife?" he hisses in a furious whisper.

"I haven't seen her yet this morning. What time did she come in?" Arizona confusedly asks.

"What do you mean? Didn't you put her up last night?" he worriedly questions.

"I don't even have my own place Jackson! Besides when I left her in the chapel last night she said she was leaving soon after me. She had calmed down and assured me that she was fine to drive on her own. Now that I think about it though she never specifically said that she was going home. Did you kick her out of the apartment! You're a class act Avery!" She mockingly pantomimes a sarcastic approval with a double thumbs-up.

Aware as he is of being publicly chastised he can only be thankful that thumb is the digit she's decided to extend.

"I DID NOT kick her out Robbins," Jackson emphasizes, scratching at his eyebrow while lines of unease seem to etch itself into his forehead. "She's not answering her phone and I have no idea where she is!"

"Did you check the OR board? Maybe she's in surgery or maybe she stayed in an on-call room or…"

Her suppositions are rudely interrupted by her frantic colleague.

"Of course I checked the board! Do you think I'm an idiot?!" Manners and finesse take a back seat to his apprehension and he lashes out at Arizona.

His anxiety is contagious – Arizona becomes infected with his similar symptomatic agitation. Both take turns dialing the number to April's mobile hoping with each tone that this will be the occasion that she answers before the ringing terminates and the call diverts to voice-mail. Expanding all avenues, Jackson has text messages sent to her pager too and even resorts to intercom announcements. The total radio silence that he is met with only increases his trepidation. This feeling in his chest is not new, it's one he just hasn't weighed in on yet but now is not the time for emotional analysis. Fear, however, guides his actions and predominant in his mind is a Vine loop of the myriad emotions that reflected on April's visage during their argument the previous evening – shock, sorrow, hurt, a smidgeon of fear but also anger and a glint of temper in the jagged gesture of brushing away tears from her eyes.

His panic is exacerbated by the fact that he knows his wife…all too well. No matter how exasperated or downright livid she was, she would never ever ignore a page or call. She was too aware of the fragility of life and quite often the necessity to swift action. Trauma in and of itself necessitated rapid responses and he knew that two other factors played a major role in her awareness of the fleeting nature of time. The first being her recent stint in the army and having a front row seat to carnage and mayhem, requiring instant resolution for a successful outcome. The second, much closer to home, was the speed at which their son was forever removed from their lives – one minute they were happy, expectant parents and the next was a shattering diagnosis that required immediate attention. The induction-termination procedure that April went through to protect Samuel from a pain-riddled life, gave them an extremely small window – they barely had time with him after his birth. He was there and then he let go.

Instantaneous accessibility in the form of wireless technology was his nemesis today. As were the police. Apparently to be considered a missing person and one worthy of having their disappearance being investigated by the law, one had to have been AWOL (in the non-military sense) for at least a 24 hour period. There was also the small matter of suspicious activity, criminal intent coupled with foul play or evidence of intention to commit grievous bodily harm. These factors not withstanding all Jackson had to go on was his instinct. He'd watched enough 'Law and Order' to know that due to the high volume of intimate partner violence and crimes of passion, police were first and foremost directed towards the spouse or partner as a person of interest and their marital dispute of the previous night would do nothing to allay suspicions. It would in fact fan the flames. His concern for April outweighed all these considerations, and he was even prepared to undergo a police interrogation if it meant that they would forego the waiting period and conduct a probe into her disappearance right away and without delay. The downside to this, contrarily, was that questioning and delving into him as a suspect in her departure would divert from the original requirement of their services – that of instantly locating his wife…hopefully unharmed.

Unable to rely on law enforcement due to their stringent, intractable policy regarding missing persons, Jackson resolved to take the law into his own hands – well the investigative leg of it. What also motivated him towards this mindset was the general consensus regarding the newly unhidden, prevailing racist ideology that was rampant in Police Departments across the US. Reliance on the efficiency and effectiveness of those sworn to uphold the law was at a low ebb, if not completely non-existent and especially regarding the black population. Incidences of police violence towards people of color resulting in injury and death of those targeted by them was statistically frightening – it was a terrifying time to be a black person in America. Uprising and revolution was imminent and the #BlackLivesMatter movement was gaining momentum. This definitely did not inspire confidence in the law. It did nonetheless convince Jackson that the law as an impartial assist would not be aiding this black man to locate the white woman who had married him.

He was technologically competent as opposed to April who was tech savvy. She'd actually been one of the initial proponents of twitter at the hospital, tweeting during surgeries she was observing and utilizing the social platform as a teaching tool. It had caught on like wild fire. Dr. Bailey had carried out running commentaries during her surgeries, responding to tweeted questions instantly via April's quick-fingered reply tweets. Back then both April and himself, along with their regular crew, were ambitious interns. They were hungry and so eager for knowledge and experience and the then named Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital, as a teaching facility, was very open to out of the box thinkers. April had even managed to win over the old, big dog – Chief Webber – who'd taken to retweeting Bailey's 'teets', as he unintentionally mispronounced to Dr. Hunt. Jackson had learnt a lot from April, enough to become a proficient tweeter and blogger, but his reserved nature and probably just general laziness, meant that he wasn't as dexterous as his wife in all manner of technological applications. Why his iPhone contact list still had her recorded as 'April Kepner'! It had remained that way since he first inputted it, upon their initial acquaintance almost a decade ago. Although, to be fair, what could he have changed it to? The endearments that he called her at times were kind of inappropriate as an entrant on his smart device address book. The circumstances and situations they found themselves in dictated how he addressed her – "Babe" when he was feeling playful, "Sweetheart" when she was being all adorable and even just her name in a tone that the moment dictated. For them generic nomenclature was not the norm or rather their normal was generic with a personalized twist.

Aware that both their smartphones are equipped with a number of different location-sharing apps, Jackson is also mindful of the fact that these would only work if the user lets you know where they are by employing the location-aware check-in features. Being that neither he nor April are celebrities or attention junkies, this functionality has basically been ignored by both of them. To his way of thinking, privacy far outweighed the intrusive nature of those phone applications. Just before April had left to join the troops at the front-lines however, Jackson had eschewed privacy for the comforting option of being able to track her whereabouts in these hot spots. After careful research he subscribed to AccuTracking – a Web interface that uses the Global Positioning System to track the geographical location of a phone. Provided that the device's GPS chip has been enabled and as long as the phone's battery hasn't run down, the position of the phone can immediately be revealed.

For her protection and safety, Jackson had furthermore had a vehicle tracking system installed in April's automobile. It was one of his immediate priorities when they returned from their wedding and short honeymoon in Lake Tahoe. A tracking device was installed by the service provider's mobile technician – a Wireless Sleuth Nano Tracking Unit. Utilizing similar GPS technology, the cyber sleuth could be operated via web interface – anywhere, anytime and in real time. This meant that aside from the normal internet access on computers, any mobile phone with an advanced operating system would correspondingly be able to track and trace a vehicle's movement history, individual trip routes, the start and end point of each trip and the information that he presently required, the motor vehicle's current location.

Being that he wasn't sexist, he knew that the feminist witticism of multi-tasking being the successful ambit of only women, while mostly the standard, was not entirely true. He sat out to disprove the generalization by concurrently logging onto the different websites, utilizing multiple technological devices. He did, nevertheless, second Arizona to continue attempting to receive a response on April's phone. His past experience during Trauma rotation, before he'd chosen his specialty, had taught him that during crisis situations everything happened simultaneously – probably where the adage 'It doesn't rain but it pours' emanated. That maxim proved accurate. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief as the cyber sleuth loaded the location of April's vehicle – a destination he was familiar with – the ringing of her telephone was cut off. Arizona had applied the speaker option on the landline device situated at the Nurses Desk on the Emergency Floor, so he'd been an avid audience to every other call that had gone unanswered. With palpable relief he was on the verge of responding with a severe tongue-lashing once the voice on the other end replied, only to be met with silence which was then interspersed with heavy breath sounds and a low, guttural moan. What followed resonated within him – scrambling movements trailed by a low pitched voice uttering a one syllable word that stopped his heart, "Bitch!"

It was true. _Only_ women could multi-task; he was unable to refute the contention. Try as he might he was powerless to comprehend his next move. With his heart in his throat, his hands braced onto the counter, his breathing choppy and obvious apprehension overtaking him, he watched unbidden as Arizona overtook all his locating apps while continuing with her attempt to dial April's phone. She multi-tasked like a pro. While his knowledge had covered the compelling argument of medical treatment of a loved one being a 'conflict of interest', Jackson finally understood the whys and wherefores of the rule in this moment. Hearing Arizona's expletives when the attempted calls to April's phone once again reverted to endless ringing diverting to voice mail, awakened the raging beast within him. With a passing look at the tablet running the vehicle locating application, enough of a glance to note that her car was on the move, Jackson took off at a speed, causing Arizona to blink peculiarly at his retreating form. She felt like Wile E Coyote peering through a plume of dust, Roadrunner shaped.

With no finesse he raced towards the point of origin he'd identified via the GPS tracker, spinning tires carelessly, attempting to reach his destination swiftly. Aware that he was hurtling as though he was an entrant in the Le Mans Grand Prix, he was thankful that he wasn't pulled over by traffic cops. That would have unnecessarily involved him in a game of twenty questions and his gut was telling him that time was of the essence. He dashed out of his SUV with reckless abandon, ignoring the vehicle's prompts to shut the door. The situation was reminiscent of his roadside marriage proposal. Then, both he and April had been so intent on their exchange that neither their surroundings nor the running engine or wide open doors had impacted on their conversation. Jackson had actually joked about their safety from bears. Engrossed as they'd been with each other and their future together, even if all three bears _and_ Goldilocks had made an appearance, it would not have disturbed their tête-à-tête. In a similar vein, his attention today was once again wholly centered on April. Finding her and assuring himself of her safety.

He spotted her and for the briefest moment exhaled, relieved. Until he noticed that she was unmoving. Observing the surrounding area for imminent danger, he approached her rapidly, calling out as he advanced. His heart literally broke at her posture. Her body was curled in as she usually did with him but where normally her head would rest on his chest this time her forehead lay against the headstone with her fingertips against the name 'Samuel Norbert Avery'. Terror jackknifed into his throat as a vivid color sprang into his vision, causing a momentary breathlessness. Adjacent to the tiny handprint that epitomized their baby's hand was the larger hand and fingerprints of Samuel's mother. Not chiseled into the headstone but painted blood-red, exactly the vibrant hue dripping from the slice in April's neck.

"April?! April! God, what's happened? Who did this to you?" he entreated, while applying pressure to the penetrating wound in her throat, attempting to stem the gushing crimson tide.

Her eyelids lifted slowly, which surprised him since he was convinced that she was out cold. She opened her mouth to speak but she was unable to formulate words. He feared the worst. He worried that the Dysphonia she was exhibiting – difficulty in speaking – was indicative of severe damage to her vocal cords. All that emerged from her was a gurgling regurgitation of fluids.

"Stay with me April… _please_ …I can't lose you!" he begged.

As he tried to soothe her she lifted her hand and caressed his cheek, mingling the clear trail of tears that he was unaware were streaming unabated down his face, with the still wet bright stain on her fingers. Her own form of reassurance to him before she slipped into unconsciousness.

The copious bleeding horrified him, as he was very cognizant of the swiftness with which an individual could exsanguinate if the carotid artery or jugular veins were severed. Also, with the volume of blood-loss obscuring the severity of the wound as well as him being unable to pinpoint the exact amount of time that had transpired since the trauma occurred, had Jackson operating in the dark. He had to act fast. His best option was to get her to GSM immediately! It was undoubtedly a balancing act, but he was familiar with her slight weight as he'd lifted her up numerous times – the first being when she'd run to him as she accepted his proposal on that shadowy turnpike. Even when she'd been pregnant with Samuel, he'd adored lifting her petite, still tiny frame. This time there was no assist from her – she was dead weight. He had to ensure that he was able to apply adequate compression to the spurting wound while carrying her and then while driving. On this return trip he inadvertently snagged the attention of the police. With some tricky maneuvering he succeeded in rolling down his window and simply said to the officers "Emergency, Grey Sloan Memorial!" It was a rare happenstance for GSM – one of their own driven into the trauma bay, bells and whistles flashing and escorted by a police motorcade.

He paced outside the operating room. Hunt and Bailey, both shocked at the senseless violence perpetrated towards their protégé, managed to set-aside their personal feelings enough to be able to treat her injuries. They quickly assessed her wounds and surmised that immediate surgery was the best and only option. Dr. Bailey's initial reaction was stupefaction. It had barely been a day since she'd loudly expressed how impressed she was with the new and improved April 2.0 – the badass Trauma Surgeon. While Jackson had been proud of her accomplishments and yes, equally impressed, he was disappointed that this adrenaline rush she was experiencing had become an addiction that allowed no room in her life for it to co-exist with him. His finally opening her eyes to his feelings and her disregard of them is what led to their spat and his subsequent ultimatum.

He had actually been a bit peeved with Bailey's judgmental attitude of the previous day. To him, April had always been badass, she'd just coupled it with a kind heart, and that made her a rare breed in the Surgical Field. Her number one priority was always the care and betterment of her patient. No unnecessary surgeries, minimally invasive procedures where possible and always the utmost care of the individual. To her, the patient was first and foremost a person and she afforded them the respect that entailed. The day that Samuel died she'd meted out and herself found a measure of peace by helping the bereaved fiancé of a trauma casualty from the night before. So while Bailey 'The Nazi's' arrogant brashness was grating to him and the antithesis of what April epitomized, that very brazenness ensured that his trust in her abilities was not misplaced.

Forced into the role of an awaiting news spouse caused him to reassess his motivation and the underlying anxiety it represented. His fear, cloaked in coolness, had manifested into a 'Pick me, choose me or else' challenge. He had time too, to reflect on his mistakes. Both of them were at fault for not expressing their true sentiments. He conceded to himself that his analysis of her actions were purely speculative and took no cognizance of her emotional turmoil, which she was at fault for keeping from him too. He realized as well that the terror he'd experienced while she was on the front-lines, which he'd mistakenly thought he'd be able to bury if she re-enlisted and they separated, was what he was experiencing right now, and which had happened in their own backyard and on his watch. This anxiety for her well-being was something he would never be able to bury or get rid off. The basis of his ultimatum was therefore ludicrous. Once she woke up he would do everything in his power to convince her that he loved her unconditionally and he would never call an end to their marriage. If she was still intent on Jordan then he would just have to follow her there.

His pacing did nothing to abate his apprehension. From being pushed aside in the Emergency Room, to his short stint in the viewing gallery, where Alex had forced his departure when he appeared to be losing it, and onwards to his slowly unravelling patience outside the Operating Room, Jackson was lost. Remembering that up in the gallery Callie had mentioned that the Police were waiting to speak with him, he decided to acquiesce to their request – he needed to get to the bottom of the who, what and why of his wife's attack. Whatever the motivation for the crime, the perpetrator had left her for dead and that inflamed him to such a rage that The Hulk had nothing on him vis-à-vis retribution.

He needed a moment to cool down before he met with the officers and he was thankful that he went with his decision of splashing some water onto his face. Gazing at his reflection in the bathroom mirror he was visibly shaken at the glaring blood prints, apparently from when April had stroked his cheek. His barely held composure crumbled at this discernable evidence of his almost widowhood, which status could still be probable. Unbidden, loud uncontrollable sobs racked his body. She was the love of his life and without her life had no meaning.

Having regained some measure of control in his demeanor and presentation, he made his way towards the Trauma Bay – the last known location of his police escort. GSM's credentials as a Level 1 Trauma Centre as well as their policy of not diverting cases to other hospitals unless unavoidable capacity issues arose, meant that most accidents – freak, vehicular or abnormal – landed on their doorstep. It was therefore no surprise to Jackson to witness a trauma that had quite literally landed through the ER doorway. What stunned him was that the automobile inhabiting the Grey Sloan Emergency Room was none other than April's.

He watched, bemused. The police officers rushed to assist the trauma team with removing what appeared to be a white male, average looking, mid to late twenties with no distinguishable features, from the front crumbled tin-can of a vehicle. On any other day his cynicism would have had him believing that the Policemen's Oath 'To Protect and Serve' was, in this case, a visible example of white privilege. Today, conversely, those officers had aided him in his time of need, redeeming to a degree their tarnished reputation.

The driver, miraculously, appeared unscathed from his altercation with the ER. That condition lasted mere seconds. Before anyone could ascertain his intent, Jackson pushed through the few remaining hospital personnel assessing the would-be patient, pulled back his arm and let loose with a punch reminiscent of the time he'd lit into Alex Karev. Enraged as he was, he continued to pummel the guy and even went back for seconds and then a third time after the officers pulled him away. Restraining him required two able-bodied policemen. He watched the cowering form of the man, satisfied to note that he'd drawn blood but dissatisfied that he'd been forced to stop. He zeroed in on the blood spatter apparent on the fellows T-Shirt and he uttered a snarl of rage while attempting to throw off the cops holding him back. He didn't need to be a blood- spatter analyst – à la Dexter Morgan – to know that the blood was April's and that this was the guy that had inflicted her life-threatening injuries.

The policeman, who looked to be a lead officer, gazed quizzically at him. He didn't even bother acknowledging the officer's questioning gaze but directly addressed the criminal he'd beat-up.

"You attacked her…you slit her throat! Why? What did she ever do to you?! Why would you stab her and leave her to die?!" he interrogated the perpetrator, in lieu of the police cross-examining the suspect. His purpose was not to do their job for them, he simply needed answers.

"What? I don't know what you're talking about. Arrest this man, officer! You saw him beat me!" the man blustered nasally.

Jackson hoped that he'd broken his nose. He was prepared to eschew his Hippocratic Oath – Physician first do no harm, it said, referencing standard ethical practices, but he was not a doctor here. He was an enraged spouse who had almost lost his wife to this murdering psychopath.

Understanding the method to his madness, the lead officer inclined his head towards his partner and both released Jackson from their restraint simultaneously. Being partners they understood each other's non-verbal cues and their actions indicated an implicit trust. The officer had not been idle during the time they had been waiting on Dr. Avery. He was a detective in training, so although this case had not been assigned to him, being a first responder to the crime, he had taken the initiative. He'd, in the interim, managed to question some of the Drs. Avery's colleagues, as well as observing the husband's behavior. His own experience as a man in love and one who constituted one half of an interracial couple, also gave him additional insight. The catch-phrases of 'modern times' and 'twenty-first century' hardly impacted day to day experiences. Knowing the inherent difficulties present when two people of different races married, he knew that the willingness to overcome the odds stacked against them, implied an enormous capacity of love between the pair. He was also hyper-aware of the retribution he would inflict were he in Jackson Avery's shoes. So he allowed Dr. Avery some latitude while simultaneously conveying to the suspect that for now, pre evidence gathering, their belief in the doctor's words held sway.

Released by the cop duo, Jackson approached the still blustering, bleeding driver and lifted him up by his lapels. To retain traction on the floor the guy had to balance onto the tips of his toes, simulating a pirouette. Jackson had not calmed down one iota. If anything his wrath was magnified by the shifty-eyed, loud-mouthed, lying sack of shit. Political correctness be damned, he couldn't be bothered censoring his views.

"Stop lying! You drove here in her car, you have her blood all over you and you came to the hospital where she works. Tell me the truth! I have no problem beating it out of you!"

The strong, unpleasant stench of urine filled the air. Observing that no help was forthcoming from any quarter, the true nature of the bully revealed itself by emptying its bladder.

Unfazed by body fluids (he was a doctor after all) Jackson continued to shake the man, demanding answers.

"Why did you attack my wife?! Why did you stab her?! Why are you here? Did you come here to stop her from identifying you?" he snarled. In the past, those who'd had the opportunity of observing an irate Jackson Avery, knew his angry persona to be one of quiet voice combined with biting, hurtful sarcasm. This loud monster was a sight to behold.

"Your…your wife?" the criminal mastermind stuttered. The sound of his own voice spurred him on and he initially attempted to deflect. "Then it's your fault," he petulantly complained to Jackson.

This raised the eyebrows of those witnessing the altercation, including the two policeman, who were wondering if their hypothesis of the doctor's character was off-base. The Lead 'almost' detective wondered for a very brief second if he should halt this interesting grilling of the suspect but he figured that letting this entertaining tableau unfold would perhaps solve the case for him.

Seeing the murderous intent reflected in Jackson's eyes, loosened other floodgates and the suspect started singing like a canary.

"She wouldn't give me the diamond rings on a chain around her neck – she kept on whining about how much they meant to her. So I cut the chain from her. Then her damn phone wouldn't stop ringing, so I took that too. But I didn't hurt her, I swear. And then when I was driving her car I found her hospital ID badge and thought I could score some more drugs so I drove here and kinda misjudged the distance to the entrance – I have a depth perception problem you see. Is she okay? I'm sorry. She was crying and then smiling while she sat by that tiny grave. But she was stubborn – why didn't she just give me the jewels? Then no one would have got hurt. What are you gonna do to me huh?" The singing canary not only implicated himself but proved with his rambling confession that he was high as a kite.

Jackson released his hold on the guilty man and walked away. There was somewhere he needed to be.

It was hard to believe that this was the same chapel that had, not even 24 hours ago, witnessed nuptials. The scene and the sense from one day to the next were polar opposites. Although yesterday both his and April's moods had been underscored by their argument, harmony and happiness had been the prevalent theme of the evening wedding of his mother to the old chief, Richard Webber. He realized that he hadn't informed his mother of what had befallen his family, but he decided to hold off until he received an accurate diagnosis from the doctors operating on April. He would not interrupt The Webbers honeymoon unless absolutely necessary. It was also a matter of him adopting an optimistic approach to the situation – when confronted with April's positive prognosis the prerequisite for having that conversation would render the compulsion for said conversation null.

He was not here for comfort. As before when he'd been driven to speak aloud to a Deity he did not even accept as real, he'd done it for her. April was unknowingly compelling him to keep to his promise – he was spending way too much time getting used to pews.

"God…I still don't know if you can hear people who don't know if you're out there…or if you give a crap about what they say…but April believes…and she loves you, and you have to be there for her. You know you haven't been fair and just to her…you've taken Samuel…and I refuse to allow you to take her too. Just to be clear here, I still don't believe…but…circumstances have brought me here once again. So show up for April, one of your good soldiers, and send her back to me. I declare that I fully intend to make good on the promises I have made to her. Starting with not giving up on our marriage."

Aware that he was making a vow in a place of worship to a God whose existence he had no faith in, did in no way delegitimize it. He believed in science not organized religion but that did not negate his ethical values. Common sense and conscience guided his moral compass towards honesty and integrity in everything he did. He trusted in himself and April and he undertook the full realization of his oaths. He believed in himself and he believed in April.

As he sat there in contemplative silence, his active mind was a continuous carnival ride. The loops and dips were enough to cause a dizzy spell. How had a crime of opportunity morphed into a freak accident that had a non-believing atheist all but praying to a Divine Being whose very existence he doubted? Thankfully, one thought that could have driven him crazy, didn't even impact his awareness. The simple reason for his confident calmness, was that he considered the source. No strung out, inebriated junkie was going to convince him that the ring he'd painstakingly chosen for April, representing their eternal commitment to each other, would become a symbol of their failure. He would buy her new rings – a representation of their re-commitment to each other and their marriage. He would make it clear to April though, that the rings just exemplified their faith in each other and were, of course, a warning to encroachers. They required no physical manifestations and especially none that were worth her life.

His attention automatically veered to the operation. Why was it taking so long? That did not bode well, he surmised but on the other hand one could infer from the duration of the op that April's body was able to handle the twin traumas of both the attack and surgery. He refused to go to the dark place. Perhaps the damage was worse than initially thought, requiring more surgery time? Or possibly April's mentor was being thorough, ensuring that all the inflicted wounds were patched-up? Or maybe they were being extra meticulous in perfecting the stitches to ensure minimal physical scarring – the hidden mental scars _he'd_ make sure _they_ dealt with. His cerebral waves continued the ebb and flow of 'what if's' while he played the waiting game. His head, swirling with thoughts, felt too heavy for his neck to support, so he simply hunched his shoulders and rested it into the anchor of his cupped hands. April had always been his mainstay and he was floating rudderless without her there to calm his stormy mind.

Dragging him out of his dazed stupor was the large, post-surgery scrubbed hand of Dr. Owen Hunt landing on his shoulder. He jumped up from the pew he'd been occupying and schooling his features into impassivity, searched Hunt's face for an answer to the question he felt unable to voice. Usually stoic with everyone but April, he let his mask slip when he noted the reassuring nod and slight but clearly exhausted smile Owen sported.

In a voice laden with emotion he started to ask, "Is she…?"

"She's alive. She's strong and she survived the surgery – came through it like a trooper," Hunt answered, all too familiar with the sentiment displayed. This had hit him hard too. He'd come to admire and respect the scrappiness that was April Avery née Kepner.

Exhaling in relief, Jackson continued, "Tell me everything."

He'd taken a few steps before turning back to face Hunt. He approached him and gripped Owens right hand in a firm handshake and with his left hand clasped his shoulder. A professional handshake coupled with a friendly, half, man-hug. An implied acknowledgment of thanks to which Owen started to reply – he was going to go with "She's a soldier" but thought better of it on noting Jackson's lifted eyebrow. He knew that pushing his protégé to sign up for a tour of duty in a combat zone, had not endeared him with her spouse. He was aware too of the discord it had sown in their marriage, so reconsidering the statement Hunt just shrugged and with an embarrassed half smile graciously accepted the appreciation, sans comment.

Having made his way up to post-op, Jackson stood looking down at April's still unconscious form while nurses bustled around, one even giving him a dirty look – obviously a stickler for the rules. He didn't care. Mr. 51% controlling member of the Board of this hospital was going to take whatever advantage that gave him. He would be with her here until she awoke, and he would be with her while they moved her, and he would be with her when they situated her in a private room and…he laughed softly to himself. Seems he'd become Mr. Vow Maker, he couldn't seem to stop making these promises to her – albeit unspoken and just in his head but very much binding.

Once the nurses bustled away, he sat in the chair that one kind soul had situated beside her bed. Lifting April's hand to his lips, the one not connected to the fluid drip, he kissed it softly before just grasping it between both of his. He lay his head onto their joint hands, simply thankful to be able to have this moment. Hunt had regaled him with the procedures they'd performed to keep her alive and while he knew all the terms and what they meant, in that moment he was merely a husband being informed that his wife had survived the surgery to repair her after a brutal attack. He reflected on it now though.

They'd had to crike her on the way to theatre, the blood obscuring the wound had compromised her airway. They performed the Cricothyrotomy because orotracheal and nasotracheal intubation had become impossible. The crike was a temporary measure so once in surgery they'd had to go with a Tracheotomy – making an incision in her windpipe, opening a direct airway and allowing her to breathe via a tracheostomy tube. The laceration was at the level of the lower third of the thyroid cartilage and the wound had continued into the larynx. The thyroid cartilage had been cut horizontally and away from the supraglottic region, and the damage had continued to the hypopharynx and ended anterior to the prevertebral mucosa. Her larynx was damaged but salvageable and there was no significant carotid or venous injuries. The damaged structures were reconstructed and all that was required now was a wait and see approach.

It wasn't very long before she woke, freaking silently at the tubes in her throat and with panic in her eyes until he was able to soothe her. Time passed while Hunt and Bailey checked up on her post surgery and had April moved to a room. When they determined that she was able to breathe on her own the tracheostomy tube was removed too. Still groggy from the procedure she was irritated to be kept awake even though she knew that a patient had to be awoken after a surgery to be able to ascertain any residual effects of the anesthesia. Jackson calmed her down once more and with extreme care got onto the hospital bed with her. With the hand connected to the drip on the opposite side she was able to turn onto her other side. Jackson spooned her from behind and both of them slipped easily into slumber.

Disoriented, he blinked. Having the feeling of being stared at, he turned his head to the side and watched April watching him. She lifted her free hand and caressed his unshaven face, and similar to when he found her at Samuel's grave, she undid him with that gentle gesture. He closed his eyes for the barest second, trying to stem the tide, but then simply surrendered. He turned his face into the space between her shoulder and chin, taking care to be gentle near her wounds. He let go and allowed his pent up grief an outlet. His body shook with the force of his sobs, guttural cries that were muffled by her bandages but whose reverberations were felt through her skin and echoed in her heart. She stroked the back of his head as he grieved, knowing that while the bulk of it was almost losing her, this was about Samuel too and yes guilt and regret over their argument and what could have almost been their last words to each other. This was his time to grieve and this was her vow to him that she was there for him throughout all the heartache and anguish he felt.

"Shh, it's okay…I'm here…I'm okay," she softly whispered, briefly forgetting that they hadn't yet tested her voice.

His head popped up so swiftly that for a moment she envisioned him as a 'whack-a-mole' or rather a 'Jack-a-mole' or 'whack-a-Jack', the latter name which gave her other ideas, and damaged as she was, rough sex, or any sex, or thinking about any sex with her husband, should be the furthest thing on her mind.

"Your voice…it's working, it's okay!" he exclaimed, laughing with joy. He leaned over her, his relief and happiness needing a further release. They both laughed in-between kisses, hers slightly lower, gruffer and quieter. His exuberance was wonderful to see. He kissed her all over the face and lay numerous gentle kisses over the bandage on her throat. What an emotional roller-coaster this day had been, one extreme to another.

"We're still standing – Me and you!" Jackson murmured.

"Me and you…Forever…"April concurred, sealing it with a healing kiss.


	3. Boiled Bunny and The Burrito

**Boiled Bunny and The Burrito**

 **A/N: Beginning GA 12.03 but incorporating 04, 05 and Promo blurb 06 with bonus interpretations and subsequent ideas that veer away from canon in conclusion, but that have been amended to be canon compliant regarding new characters names, occupations and conditions.  
**

 **Please bear with me, dear readers, and have faith in the process.  
**

 **I've modified this OS after watching 12.06 and while the ideas remain constant I've rectified for continuity and in so doing I've extended this OS into a 3-parter (possibly 4…)  
**

 **Part one (this one ;-) begins and is canon compliant from episode 12.03 until 12.06, with a twist;**

 **Part two (The Guy and The Machine) is strictly 12.06, following the story arc started here but canon acquiescent too;**

 **Part three (Reconciliation and Divorce) is a story board idea that will flesh out what was initially 12.07 expectations based on this alternate story line with some canon compliance; and**

A possible Part four based on the potential of a NDE for Japril (BTS glimpses and clues leading to a 'fiery' cliffhanger for the mid-season finale) instead of what seems to be the normal Mer calamity route that RLGA looks to be heralding. Could possibly change to be 12.08 canon compliant. (*Amended)

 **Part four (Confusing and Amazing) Following on this semi canon/alternate arc, culminating in this 'Arc de Triomphe' but somewhat canon compliant with the new 12.08**

 **Hope you enjoy the first of this possible 4 Shot arc (or 4 stand-alone One Shots ;-), dear readers!**

 **Disclaimer: All characters belong to Grey's Anatomy and the unique Shonda Rhimes and her team. Optimistic for Japril togetherness.**

 **#Year of Yes, Shonda Rhimes – Yes to Japril Togetherness**

* * *

"Listen to yourself!"

The reverberation of these 3 words rebounded off the walls of their apartment to land as poisonous barbs piercing her very heart and mind. So caustic that if the pH was measured, she was sure it would be off the charts acidic, enough to burn skin or at least cause a serious infection – worse than burning pee.

She had to woman-up. Though at this moment a bladder infection would have been preferable to this uncivil civility that was the battleground of their marriage. 

"It's my home, MY home…I hate that you are forcing me to say this stuff, April, okay! It's my name on the lease, it's my place…"

"I need space, NOW!"

"Right now, I just really wanted to have my burrito and go to sleep…"

"What is it? Boiled bunny? Coz you sound crazy!"

"You know what they call that? Divorce! Tomorrow morning when you go to work I'm having the locks changed!"

"Listen to yourself!"

While Jackson's acerbic wit and brutal honesty was well known, he'd never knowingly attacked her with words deliberately meant to undermine her hard-won confidence. Yes, they'd had arguments before, what couple in a relationship hadn't? And of course marriage itself came with its own specific challenges, and well, a born-again Christian wed to a self-avowed Atheist…fights came with the territory. In fact, their science versus organized religion bout was the pin that burst their happy marriage bubble. 

Although, to be fair, pregnancy hormones was most likely the catalyst that had pushed her into egging him on regarding his views on how they would parent their 'hypothetical' children – an adjective she had hastily revisited. Samuel, her wonderful, unexpected, unplanned surprise, was definitely real. Jackson had NEVER before attacked her mental fitness – he'd actually been her champion against those who tried to belittle her and it was an especially wounding statement because he knew what being called 'crazy' did to her and how the word itself not only hurt her but challenged her self-worth. 

"Listen to yourself!"

Being "Duckie" (as in Ugly Duckling) to her sisters, and her self-aware social awkwardness meant that she never felt worthy of Jackson but finding out that he loved her for all her quirks and idiosyncrasies had built her up and boosted her confidence enough to allow her to just be herself. To find out that, like everyone else, this is how he viewed her…well it broke her. She was a soldier though and she loved him with all her being, so even shattered as she was she was able to shore up her strength and allow his words to become water off this Duckie's back. 

"Listen to yourself!"

Was she being unreasonable? Was she invalidating his feelings and reactions? Was she being selfish, a bull-headed and unyielding know-it-all? Was her intractable self, ignoring his right to a voice in their marriage? Could her well-intentioned manipulation of circumstance and his feelings be considered a form of gaslighting? Even though he seemed to be questioning _her_ sanity? Was she perhaps being too sensitive? Of course his fury was righteous and the upshot of words uttered in anger was never a measure of honesty but of how much damage could be inflicted. She would put aside her pride, forget the harsh language and agonizing words and declare a truce, a cessation of hostilities, a Détente. She would be calm in the face of his ire but allow him an outlet to his rage. She knew him, better than anyone, so she did not fear his bellowing or even his quiet fury. He would NEVER accost her physically. What did frighten her though was his habit of giving up on them – how easily did the word "Divorce" fall from his lips! She would fight nevertheless, by not permitting him to burn their bridges. She was making her stand, here in _their_ home! 

"Listen to yourself!"

She listened. Walking into their apartment that evening she breathed a sigh of relief at seeing his keys hanging on the hook by the front door. She would allow her pride to take a back-seat in the face of the effort he was making, evidenced by her not needing a crowbar to get into their home.

"Thank you…for not changing the locks," she called out.

He must be in their bedroom, she surmised. Ready to talk, she hoped. Removing her coat, she continued the dialogue. She started by eliminating the negative power of the word.

"Things got a little crazy last night. Maybe you're right, maybe I'm being a little crazy. But is it really crazy to try like hell to save the one thing in the world that matters most to you? I love you and if fighting for you…" she abruptly came to a halt in their bedroom doorway. Not only was Jackson not in there but her intuition hinted at his absence from the apartment, key evidence to the contrary. She swiftly made her way to the dresser and the closet thereafter. The glaring deficiency of grey immediately alerted her to her spot-on sixth sense. He'd packed up his clothes and left her. 

"Oh the weather outside is frightful, but inside not so delightful! And since she had a place to go, Let No Rain! Help It Stop! Let It Go!

It doesn't show signs of stopping, she turned the lights way down low before leaving. How she'll hate going out in the storm! Let No Rain! Help It Stop! Let It Go!

And there was no one for goodbying, no one loving her so… Let No Rain! Help It Stop! Let It Go!"

Morbid though it was and definitely unseasonal, she changed up the lyrics to the Christmas Carol 'Let it Snow' hoping the mind activity of such would keep the tears at bay while she packed. The Archfield, Seattle, as he'd said, would become her temporary abode. 

He was right, the apartment was his. Although monochromatic and cold before her enhancements, it _was_ his apartment and reverting it to its previous austere appearance and lack of feminine warmth and color, she was returning it to him. She vacillated between extreme bouts of emotion, experiencing the five stages of loss in one go. Well, she always was an overachiever! In the space of that one evening she underwent denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance and a good dose of self-pity thrown into the mix. Her grief was real and as usual she had no clue how to deal. 

In the midst of her deemed acceptance she did have the mental image of hurling the apartment keys at his thick head and guilting him into the realization that with his words he'd evicted her from what was, essentially, her home too. However, once she reached The Archfield Hotel, it was to find that Jackson was not even staying there! She had hoped that proximity, first at their apartment then at the hotel, would be the harbinger of conversation (and hopefully a physical reconnection?), but that was a bust now too. She was even prepared to go with the passive aggressive conversational tactic, which to be honest was a tool she'd mastered when they were still interns at Mercy West. But how do you aggressively pursue a conversation with someone who was an equal (if not superior!) expert at dodging you at every turn. Where the freck was her effing husband?! 

* * *

She felt angry at the loss. His death was avoidable. Damn stubborn man and damn stubborn men – she was surrounded by them! Stubborn men, she thought, what a perfect example of redundancy and while not an oxymoron in the classical definition, the moron was an apt descriptor. Unyielding, uncompromising pride, that's what caused the death of the Silver Fox on her table. Pride had held him back from admitting that he took the little blue pills and so misinformation, or perhaps in this case disinformation, led to an inaccurate diagnosis and ensuing botched treatment. Distraction and inattention to detail got people killed, if you were a surgeon. It's a lesson she learned the hard way. 

She used the opportunity to hurl some choice insults at their heads, mostly towards Jackson. Having to call the time of death on his patient, Eddie, she first could not resist the biting retort that erupted from her mouth. While it was an appropriate teaching moment for Intern Cross it was also a relevant and relatable carping remark for Jackson. In this, her domain, she was strong, confident and resolute when she said, "People can be stubborn, even when it's the worst thing for them." 

He was being childishly obstinate. His intractability and refusal to even entertain the possibility of conversation with her meant that she had not had the opportunity, and consequently the desire, to inform him that his apartment had been decontaminated and was free of April infestation. His pigheadedness leading to the absence of his reassurances as her inner voice had her reverting to self-deprecation as her default inner monologue. Although, a part of her was damn angry at him too. She realized that he'd redeemed himself, to a degree, by leaving the apartment and this indicated a level of regret at his hurtful words. He was as worn-out as she was at their discourteous behavior towards each other – definitely conduct unbecoming. But the avoidance and rebuff of her every attempt at dialogue was a reversion to the beginning of their relationship when his hide and seek game-playing never allowed for honest communication. It seemed that neither of them, with their avoidance issues, had done much growing up at all. If the measure of grief was an indicator of age then both of them would be as old as Methuselah. Evidenced by their behavior however, both were severely lacking mental maturity. 

Pride and self-pity took their turns duking it out within her. So it stood to reason that whichever was the Alpha-Dog emotion of the moment, the end result would still be copious amounts of heartache. This time it was involuntary but glaringly obvious. The one and only other instance when they'd been hit with a 'Silver Flood' both of them had been interns in training at Mercy West. Similar to now, they'd thrived on the adrenaline rush of multiple, simultaneous trauma situations that required fast feet, quick thinking and above all having each other's backs. Dissimilar to now, he couldn't even stand to look at or work with her let alone reminisce about their Golden Oldies experience. 

And yet, despite his lack of enthusiasm, she was prepared to fight for her man – even if it meant mental combat with _him_ for _them_ to triumph. As she confided to Arizona, while commiserating with her on the loss of another kindly older patient, Jackson was her soul mate. 

* * *

Bailey and Ben seemed to be the catalyst of doom for them. First after the amalgamated Benley's wedding reception ( _before_ they themselves were married but _after_ their initial breakup) when Jackson screwed his intern date, crushing any hope of a reconciliation between April and himself. And now, here at Meredith's dinner party, when she'd just found out that the newly minted Chief of Surgery and spouse were aiding and abetting in the dissolution of her marriage, figuratively speaking of course. 

She'd started the conversation innocently enough, but as usual her mouth ran away with her thoughts.

"I didn't know if you were going to be here…but then I don't even know where you live now, so…"

Familiar with her conversational patterns and before the ramble could morph into a runaway train, Jackson interrupted. "Do you want to do this now? Or can we like just be at a party?"

"Forget it," she responded, stung. Clearly distraught and with wounded puppy-dog expressiveness she attempted to push past him.

For the first time since her return he reached out and touched her. He stayed her headlong flight by the simple movement of placing his hand on her belly, while he verbally clarified his temporary living arrangement. "I'm staying at Ben and Bailey's. After tonight I'll probably just get a hotel room."

Her face formed a moue, distinctive surprise etched thereon. Her mouth opened and closed without the emergence of any sound. In fact her entire demeanor at that moment mimicked that of a fish. A Clown-fish to be exact, a Nemo impersonator. Before she could gather her wits enough to explain their vacant apartment status, they were interrupted by a partially drunk Arizona, third-wheeling this first private interaction since both of them moved out. 

Feeling despondent at her lack of progress she was further discouraged by the person Jackson chose to begin a conversation with, the same person ending up as his table companion. Stephanie Edwards – his past fling, the woman in his life after he broke up with April the first time. The woman with whom his relationship lasted longer than his with her and the person he had still been dating up to the very day that he and April eloped. It was especially hurtful as their comfortable, conversational camaraderie glaringly highlighted the transformation of their own stuttered attempts at communication. Also, with the status of their marriage in doubt, she was unable to judge if Jackson was deliberately prodding the green eyed monster or worse if he was simply enjoying the absence of her drama. 

To distract herself from her marital woes and perhaps anticipation of a like-minded lack of drama, had her offering to cook the meal for the dinnerless party. It was par for the course at the previous 'Frat House' as culinary talent was not the strong suit of any of the workaholic surgeons living there. The surprise for her was that they had ingredients at the ready. She jumped in with both feet, running the kitchen as she did her Trauma Centre. She was an ultra-efficient soldier meticulously strategizing her mission of getting dinner on the table. 

Although drama was the norm in their day to day existence the form that this one took was unusual to say the least. Amidst the consumption of peas and carrots it was crudely and cruelly revealed that Penelope Blake, the new woman in Callie's life, had a hand in Derek Sheppard's treatment before he died. Words like "killed" and "murdered" were, in April's opinion, unfairly tossed around. They were surgeons and each and every one of them had experienced bad outcomes at one time or another. To verbally lynch Penny was uncalled for. And yet she understood. The desire for answers, to blame someone and to try and make sense of loss, consumed loved ones. Her first trauma rotation experience at the then named Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital, when she was a second year resident, resulted in one such an outcome and the mother of a little boy lost her life because of a mistake. The cost of that blunder was too high, it was a person and a fault she would never forget. 

In the aftermath of the disastrous dinner, April once more volunteered – this time on clean-up. To her surprised delight Jackson co-opted himself as her companion dish washer. Mentally geared as she was to fight for their marriage, even against his mulishness, she was astonished at the inadvertent re-ignition of his protective instincts towards her. First when she recounted her previously reflected on experience – missing the airway which error resulted in the death of the young mother and secondly when he sought to safeguard her by refusing to allow her to drive while inebriated, however minimally. Happenstance of Dr. Cross being designated as their driver, she figured, worked in her favor, for the end result of Jackson dropping her off would have surely ended in a huge argument at the discovery that she had moved out of the apartment too. She would tell him tomorrow or if this favorable progress continued trending between them, then she would just move back in and welcome him home. 

"Your dinner was excellent tonight…thanks," he whispered in lieu of a goodbye and to her buoyant heart in apology for his previous remarks.

Boiled Bunny trumps The Burrito, she thought, as she mentally pumped her fist in victory. 

* * *

Mission 'Return to Sender' as she'd coined winning her husband back, was on a go-slow. Meaningful communication was still not happening but the upside was that after the dinner party at Meredith's house they were once again polite to each other, even though their exchanges centered only around surgeries and work. It was the ideal time for Jackson to be introduced to the other man in her life, their son…


End file.
